The rainstorm descended in the early evening.
Lin Xi stood inside the roller shutter door of the auto repair shop, watching rain pour down from the eaves and form a murky stream in the alleyway outside. The sky looked as if it had been torn open; raindrops hammered the ground, sending up plumes of white mist, while distant buildings blurred into gray silhouettes behind the curtain of rain.
"Something unnatural about this rain," Old Zhou muttered beside her, a cigarette dangling from his lips as his brows furrowed into a knot. "The rainy season came way too early this year."
Lin Xi said nothing. Her gaze pierced through the rain to the mahjong parlor across the alley. Its roller shutter was half-lowered, casting a dim yellow glow from within. Through the glass window, she could see Liu Dayong sitting in his usual spot—but today, he wasn't playing mahjong. Huddled in a corner, a cup of cold tea on the table before him, he looked like a startled rat, glancing up at the window every so often.
He was afraid.
Three days had passed since that night. In those three days, Liu Dayong hadn't been to the mahjong parlor, hadn't loitered in the alley, hadn't even stepped out to buy cigarettes. He'd shut himself up in his rented room like a snail retreating into its shell. Until this afternoon, when he'd finally emerged—first stopping at a convenience store for a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of liquor, then heading into the mahjong parlor, where he'd sat in the corner staring blankly instead of joining a table.
Lin Xi knew what he was waiting for. He was waiting for news from Scar Liu. Waiting for the organization to tell him who the person calling themselves "Jingzhe" really was. Waiting for an answer—one that would let him feel at ease.
But that answer would never come.
"Old Zhou, I'm heading out," Lin Xi turned to grab the raincoat hanging on the wall.
"With rain this heavy, why not wait for it to lighten up?"
"It's fine, it's not far anyway."
Old Zhou gave her a look but said no more. He'd grown used to Lin Xi's silence and solitary ways these past few days. The girl worked efficiently, spoke little, never pried into others' business, and never complained. To him, she was just a bit odd but reliable—a migrant worker making her way.
Lin Xi pulled on the raincoat, tugged the brim low, and stepped into the downpour.
Rain drummed against the raincoat in a dense patter. Instead of heading back to her rented room, she turned onto a narrow path behind the alley. Her pace was steady, as if she were out for a stroll in the rain, but her ears were tuned to every sound behind her.
Three minutes later, she heard footsteps—hurried, heavy, and tinged with panic. It was Liu Dayong. He'd left the mahjong parlor and was heading in the other direction down the alley.
Lin Xi slowed her steps to let Liu Dayong put some distance between them, then turned to follow.
A rainy night was perfect for tailing someone. The downpour muffled most sounds and scents, and low visibility made anti-surveillance tactics all but useless. More importantly, no one would notice an extra person on the street in weather like this. Everyone was running, sheltering from the rain, keeping their eyes fixed on the puddles underfoot.
No one would look up at a blurry figure in a raincoat.
After walking along the alley for about ten minutes, Liu Dayong turned into an even narrower lane deep in the old town. The buildings here were more dilapidated, their plaster walls peeling away to reveal red brick beneath. There were no streetlights—only faint glimmers from a few windows, casting broken reflections in the puddles on the ground.
Lin Xi paused at the lane entrance to make sure no one else was around, then followed him in.
Her footsteps were nearly silent. The hem of her raincoat brushed against the wall with a soft rustle, but the rain drowned it out completely. Her eyes remained fixed on Liu Dayong's back—that hunched, slightly trembling shape.
Three years ago, that same figure had stood behind a shipping container at the docks and spoken the words into a walkie-talkie that changed her life: "Target has entered the area. You may proceed."
Thirty seconds. Her entire life had been destroyed in thirty seconds.
Lin Xi's hand clenched involuntarily.
Liu Dayong stopped in front of an old building. He glanced back to check he wasn't being followed, then pushed open the iron gate to the stairwell. The gate let out a sharp squeal that was quickly swallowed by the rain.
Lin Xi didn't follow immediately. She waited thirty seconds in the lane, then walked up to the building and glanced at the doorplate—there was none, only a few blurry numbers scrawled on the wall in chalk. The building was at least thirty years old; the lights in the stairwell had long since broken, leaving it as dark as an open mouth.
She pushed open the iron gate and stepped inside.
The stairwell reeked of damp mildew and urine. Lin Xi's eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, allowing her to make out scattered trash on the floor and peeling plaster on the walls. Above, she could hear the drip of water—not rain, but a leak from a broken pipe.
Liu Dayong's footsteps were upstairs—third floor, maybe fourth. Lin Xi didn't follow too closely; she kept to the wall, each step landing on the edge of the stairs where noise was least likely.
Fourth floor. Liu Dayong's footsteps stopped, followed by a rhythmic knock—three long raps, two short ones.
The door opened. A hoarse voice called from inside: "Come in."
Liu Dayong entered, and the door closed behind him.
Lin Xi stopped at the landing between the third and fourth floors, leaning against the wall as she looked up at the door. Her heart beat steadily, her breathing even. In the dark stairwell, she felt not tension, but a strange sense of calm.
It was a calm that reminded her of the past.
Three years ago. When she was known as Jingzhe.
Those had been her proudest days. The organization's ace agent, she'd carried out seventeen high-risk missions with a 100% success rate. Her name was legendary in intelligence circles—some said she was an elite from a special forces unit, others claimed she was an assassin trained by the KGB, and still more insisted she wasn't human at all, but some kind of genetically modified super soldier.
No one knew she was just an orphan abandoned at the gate of a children's home, taken in by a man called "Old Daddy" and trained to be a killing machine.
But back then, she didn't feel like a machine. She thought she was a hero.
"Jingzhe, you're the best agent I've ever seen."
That was what Old Daddy had often said to her. After every mission, he'd pour her a cup of tea himself, listen to her debrief, then give her that fatherly smile. It made her believe everything she did had purpose. The killings, the lies, the days and nights spent in darkness—all for a greater cause.
"We're cleaning the poison from this world," Old Daddy would say. "Every act of yours saves more lives."
She'd believed him.
Truly believed him.
She remembered her first assassination mission—the target was an international businessman suspected of human trafficking. She'd waited three days in a Bangkok hotel before ending the man's life with a piano wire. Back at the safe house, her hands had shaken for a full hour.
Old Daddy had held her hands and said, "You saved those trafficked children. You did the right thing."
After that, she never shook again.
She remembered the mission where she'd survived two weeks in the Siberian forest. Minus thirty degrees Celsius, no supplies, no backup—only one target: a former organization member who'd defected. It took her fourteen days to cross three hundred kilometers of snowfields, finally finding him in an abandoned lumber mill.
When she pulled the trigger, his hand had been clutching a child's teddy bear. Later, she'd learned the toy belonged to his daughter. He'd defected because he wanted to take his family away from that den of murderers.
But she hadn't hesitated. Because Old Daddy had said he was a traitor. Traitors deserved to die.
She remembered the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, where she'd used a hairpin to pick the lock on a door. Behind it lay a basement holding more than a dozen women waiting to be trafficked. She'd killed four guards and set the women free.
One of them had hugged her and cried, "You're an angel."
An angel. An angel who killed without mercy.
Back then, she'd truly thought she was some kind of champion of justice. She'd thought Old Daddy was the mentor guiding her toward the light. She'd thought the organization was purging evil from the world.
Until a bullet tore through her body.
Until seawater filled her lungs.
Until, on the brink of death, she'd suddenly realized the truth—
She wasn't a hero. She was a tool. A device built to be used and discarded once its purpose was served. Old Daddy's smiles, the organization's mission, all that talk of "justice"—it had all been lies.
How many of the people she'd killed had been truly evil? How many had just been in the way of the organization's profits? Had the man in the lumber mill really betrayed them? Or had he just wanted to stop killing?
She'd never know.
But she did know one thing—she'd make those who'd deceived her pay. Not for justice, not for the dead. For herself.
For the twelve-year-old girl who'd been led away from the orphanage.
For the young assassin who'd shivered in the Siberian snow.
For the fool who'd believed she was an angel.
The sound of a door opening pulled Lin Xi back to the present.
She heard Liu Dayong's voice, low and tinged with fawning subservience: "Brother Liu... what did the organization say about that business?"
Another voice replied—hoarse, deep, and seasoned with the cunning of an old hand: "The organization says it's impossible. Jingzhe is dead—died three years ago. The one you ran into is a fake."
"She's not a fake!" Liu Dayong's voice shot up before dropping to a whisper again. "She knows about the docks, she knows the details from that day! No one but the people there could know that!"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure! She even mentioned 'Ouroboros'—only people in the organization know that name!"
Silence. Ten long seconds of silence.
Then the hoarse voice spoke again: "The organization will look into it. Go back for now, keep a low profile, don't run around. If that person contacts you again—"
"What then?"
"Find a way to hold her off. The organization wants her alive."
Lin Xi narrowed her eyes in the darkness. Alive. The organization wanted her alive. What did that mean? Did they want to find out who was impersonating Jingzhe? Or—did they suspect Jingzhe was still alive and want to capture her for their own purposes?
Either way, one thing was clear: Scar Liu had received his orders from the organization. And through Liu Dayong, those orders would reach her.
She smiled silently in the dark. The smile was as cold as a blade.
Perfect. She'd been wondering how to find Scar Liu.
The door upstairs opened again, and Liu Dayong's footsteps descended the stairs. Lin Xi stepped quietly back into the shadows at the third-floor landing, pressing her body flush against the wall. When Liu Dayong passed, he was less than a meter away—but he noticed nothing.
His face was pale, lips white, eyes bloodshot. He was afraid—afraid of the ghost who'd held a knife to his throat in the dark alley, and afraid of the organization. Caught in the middle, he was like prey being torn at by two beasts.
After watching him disappear down the stairs, Lin Xi turned her gaze upward.
The door on the fourth floor was still slightly ajar, light spilling out along with the sound of a radio—a traditional opera channel playing a Peking opera piece.
She didn't approach. The time wasn't right yet. She needed to confirm Scar Liu's identity, movements, and routines before choosing the perfect moment. Just like every mission she'd ever carried out—calm, precise, and untraceable.
But first, she needed to be certain of one thing.
Lin Xi pulled out her phone and switched it to playback mode. She'd recorded every word of Liu Dayong's conversation with Scar Liu. The old phone's recording quality was poor, full of static and rain noise, but the key parts were clear enough.
After saving the audio file, she turned and headed downstairs.
By the time she stepped out of the building, the rain had lightened a little. Puddle water soaked through to her ankles as she made her way back through the alley; the hem of her raincoat was soaked through, clinging to her legs with a cold dampness.
Instead of going straight home, she took a detour to a footbridge on the edge of the old town.
Below the bridge lay Binhai City's expressway, where cars sped through the rain, sending up plumes of white mist. In the distance, the port was brightly lit, the silhouettes of cranes flickering in the rain. Further still stood the city's CBD, where skyscraper lights pierced through the fog like glowing needles.
Lin Xi stood at the rail, gripping it as she watched the city's night scene.
Raindrops struck her brim and trickled down, forming a curtain across her vision. She pulled off the raincoat's hood, letting the rain beat against her face. The cold touch reminded her of the seawater from three years ago.
Back then, her name had been Ye Qingzhou. Code name: Jingzhe. The organization's ace agent. Old Daddy's proudest creation.
She'd believed. She'd been loyal. She'd thought she was saving the world.
Now she knew—the truth was that she'd been a carefully trained killer, a tool meant to be cast aside at any moment. Every smile from Old Daddy had been a calculation, every word of praise a means of control, every "mission" a manipulation of her trust.
But Old Daddy had miscalculated one thing.
He hadn't expected her to survive.
Lin Xi tilted her head back, letting the rain wash over her face. Her new features felt even more foreign in the rain, but her eyes remained the same—burning with cold fire in the darkness.
"I am Jingzhe," she whispered to the rainy night.
The name no longer stood for glory. No longer for loyalty. No longer for anything tied to Old Daddy.
It had become a vow. A curse. A blade pointed at all who had betrayed her.
Cars raced beneath the bridge in the rain, and no one heard her words. No one knew who the woman standing in the rain was. She was just a blurry silhouette, a passerby lingering in the storm.
But deep in the city's shadows, those who owed her debts would hear the name eventually.
Jingzhe.
Spring thunder.
The countdown to your end.
Lin Xi stood on the footbridge for a long time, until the rain stopped completely. The skyline in the distance began to pale as a new day approached. She pulled her hood back on, turned, and walked down the bridge—toward the old town, toward her fifteen-square-meter rented room.
Thirteen faces on the wall awaited her.
And the first one had already been marked.